Part Eight

Part Eight

My arms were pinned behind me and I was half-dragged,
half-kicked through the streets of the squirrel village towards
the temple. The great doors were swung open and they heaved me
into the dark space beyond. I stumbled as they tumbled me up onto
a platform, slammed me back against a steel post and lashed me to
it firmly with thick cables.

It was dark but I was not alone. I heard them out there in the
blackness: the chattering, the whispering and soft cackling of
many, many squirrels. That it should come to this; that I should
meet my end not though a noble act of sacrifice, or some
desperately futile heroic struggle, but at the grasping paws of a
bunch of woodland vermin with a nut fixation. Well, fair enough,
I suppose a less-than-dignified demise was always on the cards
for me, but I never guessed it would be as bad as this.

Light suddenly struck my face, blinding me. I shut my eyes and
tried to twist away, to shield myself from the glare, but I was
too firmly restrained and my frantic struggling was in vain.

“Comfy?” I heard the voice of King Flaky Nibbles
IV, coming from somewhere close by.

“Not really,” I replied, as cordially as I could
manage under the circumstances.

“Good, good,” said the King, with a noticeable
lack of sympathy. “Jolly good.”

I tried to open my eyes. The glare was intensely painful at
first, but gradually I began to perceive my surroundings, and was
surprised to see rows of tables in front of me, groups of
squirrels seated around each one, gossiping and joking amongst
themselves. I was further dumbfounded to see a mobile disco on my
right, all flashing lights and spangly banners. I had no time to
ponder what this could mean, for at this point King Flaky Nibbles
stepped forward to address the crowd.

“People of Squirreltopia!” he proclaimed, his
voice ringing around the great temple and pressing the squirrels
gathered within into silence. “People of the Russet
Forests, sturdy of tail, strong of nut and long of tooth! Noble
brethren of the woodland... How y’doing? Is everyone all
right?”

A cheer from the crowd.

“Smashing!” said His Majesty, warming to his
audience. “Well, y’know, it’s lovely to be here
again. I know we’re going to have a fantastic time.
We’ve got some great acts tonight, including the Fabulous
Maple Twins, the Amazing Spendo and his Inflatable Badger, and
the gorgeous Makita Muff, female vocalist, who went down so well
at last month’s hanging.”

Another big cheer from the crowd. He was working well
tonight.

“Aw, you’re wonderful,” said King Flaky
Nibbles, with real sincerity. “But let us not forget the
main attraction.”

Two of the King’s personal guard entered, carrying some
sort of contraption covered in a sheet. They placed it directly
in front of me, and I really didn’t care for the way they
leered at me as they shuffled back to the wings.

“That’s right!” The King announced.
“It’s Geoff Dickson and his extraordinary removable
nuts!” As he spoke he pulled off the sheet with a flourish,
revealing a small guillotine, alarmingly set at waist height. A
weak man would have soiled himself at this point. I soiled myself
at this point. I also think I may have begun to cry.

“But all that’s to come later,” promised
Flaky Nibbles. “In the meantime, the buffet’s open,
and Davey Spandex is here with his wheels of steel. Take it away
Davey!”

And so this was the countdown to my demise: a selection of
Abba tunes blasting out of gaudily illuminated twin turntables,
whilst a constant line of gabbling squirrels grabbed plates and
serviettes and trawled the buffet that was laid out on a series
of long tables down the length of the temple. This, I remember
thinking at the time, was one of the strangest sacrifices I had
ever been to. Admittedly, it was the only sacrifice I had ever
been to, but even had I been a regular at these occasions, I
reckoned this would still rank amongst the top ten weirdest.

It was then that I spotted my salvation, hovering by the egg
and cress sandwiches. It was Janet, plate in hand, prodding and
fingering various eatables with the practised eye of a
professional partygoer. I tried to attract her attention, but she
was far too absorbed in examining a bowl of cheesy snacks. She
picked up one between thumb and forefinger, perused it closely,
sniffed it, licked it, then put it back and moved on. It was then
that she noticed me, and came over.

“Oh hi,” she said, as though she had just bumped
into an acquaintance she recognised but couldn’t quite
place. “How are you?”

“I could be better,” I responded tersely.

She ignored the retort. “It’s a great spread
they’ve laid on,” she said chattily as she held up
the pyramid of sandwiches that she had managed to balance on her
plate. “There’s ham, chicken, cheese and onion.
They’ve spared no expense.” She glanced up at me, her
expression momentarily tinged with curiosity. “Are you not
having anything?”

“What?” I replied, that single word heavy with
indignation. “Well of course I’m not having anything!
It may have escaped your attention, but they’re going to
cut my balls off in a little while.”

“Ah yes,” she replied, nodding sagely. “Of
course. I understand.”

“Understand?” I repeated. “Understand
what?”

“Pre-show nerves,” she said, as she levered a tuna
and sweet corn sandwich into her mouth. “No wonder you
can’t eat anything,” she continued, spitting crumbs.
“I shouldn’t worry, even the best performers get
stage fright.”

“Janet!” I snapped, hardly able to believe her
cavalier attitude. “You’ve got to help me!”

“Oh don’t worry,” she assured me.
“I’ll grab you a plate full of stuff for
afterwards,” she said, and headed off back towards the
buffet.

I watched her go with a horrible, horrible sinking feeling.
Would she do nothing to help me? Apparently not. It seemed that
her dedication to feeding her face would not allow such
distractions. By the time the gorgeous Makita Muff, female
vocalist, shimmied off stage after her second encore, the buffet
was little more than a desolate battleground; the scene of a
conflict in which Janet had played no small part. Even the plate
she had been saving for me was empty, as she demonstrated by
holding up the aforesaid item of crockery and mouthing the word
‘sorry’ accompanied with an apologetic shrug.

I can’t claim that I was too miffed about that. Right
now I had far more pressing worries: the acts had all finished
and it was time for the finale. I was on.

“It’s chopping time!” cried King Flaky
Nibbles, with far more relish than was seemly. The crowd, equally
over the top, were suddenly on their feet, clapping and cheering
wildly. Hairy little paws undid my belt and lowered my trousers,
exposing me to the evil glint of the guillotine blade.

“Oh-oh-oh, c-come on now,” I stammered. “Be
reasonable.” I gave a shrill, nervous little laugh.
“A joke’s a joke, and all that.”

“Hey, who’s laughing?” said King Flaky
Nibbles. “This is high drama.”

I glanced around wildly, desperate for someone to come to my
aid, but there was no one. “Why are you doing this?”
I screamed, as the guillotine was moved into position.
“Why? Why? Why?”

He reached out and ran a paw over the frame of the guillotine,
then bent to inspect the mechanism.

“Yes... well... good...” I mumbled, panic taking a
firm hold of me now. “But is that... is that... I mean,
tradition: is that really a good enough reason to cut
someone’s balls off?”

“Interesting point,” said the King as he reached
out and placed his hand on the release mechanism. “Perhaps
we can discuss it further after I’ve cut your balls
off?” He turned to address the crowd. “Okay people
here we go,” he said and he began a countdown.
“Five... Four...”

“Wait! Wait!” I yelled. “Oh God,
no!”

“Three... Two...” The crowd were all counting down
together.

“Please! For pity’s sake. Leave my balls
alone!”

“One!” announced King Flaky Nibbles. “Make a
wish!”

“WAIT!”

The mighty double doors of the temple were suddenly thrown
violently open. As one, the audience of squirrels drew breath and
twisted around to see what the commotion was. Bright light
streamed in from the outside world, solid beams flitting around a
silhouette framed in the doorway.

“I’m back!” came that voice again, deep,
commanding, eminently trustworthy. The figure came forward,
swaggered slightly to the left, countered it with a shimmy to the
right, staggered forward, snatched up a champagne glass from a
nearby table and downed it in one fluid movement.

King Flaky Nibbles shielded his eyes against the light.
“Hello?” he said. “Who’s this?”

The figure came forward, resolving into a tall, handsome
looking squirrel of obviously noble bearing, but with a hint of a
rakish gleam in his eye. “Hamilton Shagpaw!” he
announced, as he tripped confidently down the central aisle.

“Hamilton Shagpaw!” chorused the audience
happily.

“Hamilton Shagpaw!” cried the King with
delight.

“Hamilton Shagpaw!” exclaimed Janet as she pushed
a substantial wedge of quiche down her neck.

“The same,” said the newcomer. He came up sharply
before the King, snapped to attention and saluted smartly.
“Commander Hamilton Shagpaw of the Secret Squirrel Squadron
- expert in espionage, deadly in hand-to-hand combat and licensed
to shit in the woods.”

“Flipping heck,” said the King.

“I should say so, Your Majesty,” said Commander
Shagpaw, unabashed. “Sorry I’m late. I’ve just
come back from a dangerous mission to the enemy command complex.
Barely managed to get out with my life.”

A thrill of excitement passed through the crowd at the words
‘dangerous mission’. This Hamilton Shagpaw was
clearly something of a local hero. He certainly had a sort of
easy charm about him - the elegantly coiffured fur, the confident
stance and honest manner. And I for one have to admit, with some
degree of admiration, that this was the first time I had ever
seen a squirrel with a moustache.

“No, no, no - you’re just in time,” said
King Flaky Nibbles, and he jabbed a thumb over his shoulder.
“We’re just about to cut this feller’s balls
off.”

Hamilton Shagpaw glanced briefly at me. “Hello,”
he said politely, then turned his full attention back to his
esteemed superior. Well, sir, I’ll give you a full account
of my mission when it’s more convenient.”

He started to go, but the King stopped him and, much to the
delight of the crowd, asked him to deliver his account
immediately. And so Commander Shagpaw launched into his story
with great relish. He told of how he had been out on patrol when
he had spotted four ‘hairless monkeys’. These
monkeys, it emerged, turned out to be the Professor, Cathy, Janet
and myself. He had watched as we were attacked by the giant slugs
- Mucons, he called them - and was amazed to witness Janet laying
about them for all she was worth with a pointy stick. She had
driven them off, of course, but they had taken the Professor and
Cathy with them, and so he had followed them, trailing them back
to their city. However, he had been spotted by a Mucon patrol
that had pelted him with hot gravel and old biscuits, but the
Commander managed to escape by the skin of his teeth, using
nothing more than an umbrella and a rolled up newspaper.

“And that’s exactly how it happened,” he
concluded, accompanied by a tumultuous round of applause from the
audience.

“That woman beat off a whole platoon of Mucons armed
only with a stick!” Shagpaw claimed.

“It’s the prophecy!” ejaculated King Flaky
Nibbles. “Long ago it was foretold that a woman would come
from the stars with the ability to beat off Mucons with a stick,
and that she would be proclaimed divine and lead us to triumph.
So it is written.”

For the first time Commander Shagpaw expressed a modicum of
doubt. “Oh yes?” he said.

“Yeah, sure,” replied the King. “It’s
written in the ancient scrolls. You get to know all this when
you’re king. There’s some good stuff about sea lions
in there too, but we won’t go into all that now.” He
raised his voice to address the audience. “This woman has
come to save our people!” he announced. “We must
treat her as a God and obey her every command. Nothing should be
denied to her.” King Flaky Nibbles IV turned to an
increasingly confused looking Janet. “Speak, anointed one,
so that we may carry out your every command. What do you wish of
us?”

Janet looked nonplussed for a moment. Then, seeing the half
eaten vol-au-vent in her hand, she said, “Well some more of
these wouldn’t go amiss.”

“Janet!” I hissed, feeling it prudent to remind
her of my predicament.

“It shall be done!” King Flaky Nibbles clapped his
paws together smartly. Some of his personal guard exchanged
curious glances, but none of them actually rushed off to get
anything. “Anything else?” he asked.

“Janet! What about me?” I persisted.

“Erm, well the pork pie’s all gone,” Janet
continued, ignoring me. “And, erm... oh, I could do with a
new battery for my watch.”

“As you command, so it shall be.” King Flaky
Nibbles clapped again. Once again his personal guard looked
uneasily at each other, shrugged and did nothing. “Anything
more?” he asked.

“Well, I don’t think, I really...”

“Janet! Janet! For God’s sake!” I cried.

“There’s nothing I can think of that...”

“Janet, you evil bastard!” I growled, “tell
them to let me go.”

“Oh yes,” Janet suddenly said with a start. Then
in a deep, authoritative voice she said, “And I command
that you release my faithful servant this instant - you know, the
irritating chap tied to the pole.”

“Certainly,” said the King. “He’s all
yours... Do you want him with or without nuts?”

And so, later that evening, Janet and I joined King Flaky
Nibbles and some of the other important squirrels of the village
around a traditional squirrel campfire. It was a surreal
occasion, and an unsettling one. The demonic way the crimson
firelight played across the earnest furry faces of our hosts was
disturbing enough, but when several attendants came in carrying
four bowls of squirming green animals and set them down in front
of us, I had a sudden strong urge to be somewhere else. However,
I was a prisoner of the squirrels’ hospitality and getting
away wasn’t going to be that easy.

I leaned over and peered in the bowl nearest to me. The little
creatures looked like frogs, but they were slightly greener,
slightly stringier and about fifteen percent slimier. “What
are they?” I asked, uneasily.

“We call them ‘slimy green things’,”
said my new friend, and with that he picked up a stick and
speared one of the creatures, which responded with a tiny sigh.
Then he thrust it into the fire. The little green creature
hissed, sizzled, then I heard a soft, plaintive murmur of
‘cor blimey’. Moments later there was a sharp
‘pop’ and my neighbour pulled the toasted remains
from the fire and began chewing on it hungrily.

“You have to wait until you hear the pop,” he
explained, chewing on the glistening green lumps.
“That’s the sound of its arse cheeks exploding. When
you hear that, you know that it’s cooked. Go on, tuck in.
You won’t regret it.”

I declined, deciding that I was not going to give myself the
opportunity of regretting it. Just the sight of all the other
squirrels munching away was enough to turn my stomach. All around
me I could hear the sounds of the little creatures cooking. The
soft sigh as the animals were speared, the hiss, then the sizzle,
the ‘cor blimey’ and the eventual arse pop. Even
Janet was eating. She was sitting opposite me, between Commander
Shagpaw and King Flaky Nibbles. The King in particular was all
over her like a rash. He was even letting her stroke his guinea
pig.

“Go on, touch him, he likes you,” the King
said.

The animal in question was an ungainly, corpulent beast, about
the size of a small dog. He was curled up next to the King in an
attitude that suggested he wasn’t planning on going
anywhere in the next six months. Clearly he was a treasured pet,
and the King doted on him in an embarrassing fashion.

“Magnificent creature, isn’t he?” said the
King.

“Oh yes, yes,” said Janet.

“His name’s Simon,” said King Flaky Nibbles.
“I sometimes think that he’s my best friend in the
whole world.”

“Really?” said Janet.

“Yeah, well, I’m not very sociable really,”
said the King. “But Simon here has got such a wonderful
temperament for a rodent. You can touch his balls if you
like.”

“No, really, that’s fine,” Janet said.
“Why don’t you tell me about your people? How did you
come to be here, and where do I fit into it all?”

“Ah well,” said His Kinginess, “it’s
like this.” He paused to spear another of the slimy green
things (sigh). “Many many years ago (hiss) our people and
the Mucons (sizzle, cor blimey) lived together in peace (pop,
munch, munch, munch).”

I leaned over to the squirrel next to me. “These
Mucons,” I said. “They’re the big snail things,
right?”

My neighbour just looked at me and shrugged. “I know
nothing of these ‘big snail things’ of which you
speak,” he replied.

“Fair enough,” I said. “I’ll take that
as a yes.”

“Well then,” continued King Flaky Nibbles as he
playfully tickled his guinea pig behind the ear, “one of
our greatest scientists, Professor Cyril Nutkins, invented a
wonderful new machine which he built out of clothes pegs, papier
mâché and bicycle inner tubes. It was capable of
blending two entirely separate substances or entities to create
something completely new.”

“Wow,” said Janet, sounding almost genuinely
impressed. “And what was this wonderful machine
called?”

“We called it a ‘blender’,” explained
the King, with evident pride. “And it proved invaluable to
us. With it we were able to fuse nuts with cows and create giant
nut-cows that roamed the fields in great herds. A single nut-cow
could feed an entire family for many weeks. It was a wonderful
achievement.”

“Until the Mucons found out about it,” added
Commander Shagpaw, with a hint of bitterness.

“What happened then?” asked Janet.

“I thought you might ask that,” said King Flaky
Nibbles, nodding wisely as he stabbed at the last slimy green
thing as it slid around the bowl, desperate to escape.
“Which is why I have asked General Bushtail to prepare a
short presentation.”

“Okay people listen up!” General Bushtail
announced as he strode to the front of the group. “This is
the situation regarding the Mucon menace.”

By this time Squad Leader Knothole had already erected a
screen and was standing to attention beside a slide
projector.

“First slide please, Squad Leader,” barked the
General. The picture showed a map of the squirrel village.
“Now ten years ago we were subjected to a lightening raid
by the Mucons.” He whipped out a pointing stick and began
to indicate various places on the map. “They first
infiltrated the village here, here and here, but the alarm was
not raised until they reached the inner perimeter
here.”

King Flaky Nibbles leaned over to Janet. “He’s
very good, isn’t he?” he opined proudly. Janet nodded
in agreement.

“Now, I was just a young lieutenant at the time,”
the General continued, “but I well remember the panic
caused by the sudden appearance of the enemy. We were completely
unprepared. In short, gentlemen, they kicked our collective butt.
We were totally unable to stop them as they made their way
here... Next slide please Squad Leader.”

The picture changed to an enlarged view of one corner of the
village. “Here, gentlemen, to the laboratory of Professor
Nutkins. They took possession of the Professor’s blender,
and made their way to the edge of the village here, where they
were able to make their getaway using three Minis and a specially
converted bus.”

“Sadly not,” said the King. “He was killed
in a bizarre beetroot accident shortly afterwards. No, now we
must survive on twigs and bits of string, and the fields where
the nut-cows once roamed are now all golf courses.”

“Well then, we must get this machine back,” said
Janet with grim determination.

“Not that simple, lady,” said General Bushtail.
“Next slide please, Squad Leader.” The new picture
was a photo of some vast city complex, as seen from the air.
“The Mucons built a massive command complex in which to
carry out their secret machinations,” he explained.
“This aerial reconnaissance photo was bravely obtained for
us by Lieutenant Hairy Muffchoke of the the First Division
Special Catapult Squadron - commiserations to his family, by the
way.”

There was an embarrassed mumble from the other squirrels.

“You can see that the complex has very heavy
defences,” General Bushtail continued. “To the east
it is protected by large spiky things - very nasty. To the south
and west giant mangley things threaten to reduce all trespassers
to a pulp. To the north there are crunchy, whirry, grindy things
that can do serious damage to your future prospects.”

“Exactly,” said General Bushtail. “And so,
thus far, all attempts at penetrating the city have proved
fruitless. Now, any questions?”

The squirrels all glanced around and nudged each other, but
none of them seemed to have the nerve to raise a paw. Eventually
I felt the need to break the silence myself, and caught General
Bushtail’s attention.

“Yeah, you there,” he said, levelling his pointing
stick at me. “The ugly guy at the back.”

“Yeah thanks,” I said. “I was just wondering
what these Mucon things want this blending machine for? Are they
making nut-cows too?”

“Good question,” said the General. He motioned to
the Squad Leader Knothole to change the slide once more. It
seemed to show a collection of empty crisp packets. “Potato
chips!” said the General. “Or, at least, that’s
what our best intelligence reports indicate, at any rate.
They’re experimenting with combining different
flavours.”

“Cheese and mushroom!” I said.

“Prawn and Lemon!” said Janet.

“We’ve seen some of those empty crisp packets
lying around,” I explained.

“Well, I hope you didn’t touch any of
‘em,” General Bushtail said ominously. “Our
backroom boys reckon the Mucons are working to combine unnatural
flavours in order to make evil snacks.”

“Evil snacks?” I queried. “How does that
work, then?”

“I guess they must be cursed, or something,” the
General said vaguely. “Some kind of Voodoo. Or maybe
they’ve got some new kind of toxin? Hell, I don’t
know. Whatever the Mucons are doing, it stands to reason that
they’re up to no good. If only we could get inside, we
could put paid to their plans for good.”

“Well that’s exactly what we’re going to
do!” Janet suddenly said. She sprang to her feet,
scattering the glowing embers of the fire everywhere and igniting
one unfortunate animal, who ran out into the night, screaming.
“Tomorrow, we’re going to the Mucon city!”

She looked down at me and, with horror, I realised that she
intended to include me in her madcap scheme. “Oh no,”
I said. “No, no, no - I can’t. I mean... I’ve
got to be at home tomorrow morning: I’ve got a man coming
to measure up for double glazing. And, I’ve just
remembered, I’ve got a dentist’s appointment, and not
only that but I think I’m coming down with a cold, so I
reckon I should be excused heroic rescue missions.”

Deep down I knew my protestations were futile. Janet
wasn’t listening to me; she was lost in a world of her own.
“Oh yes, my furry brethren,” she said.
“Tomorrow - tomorrow we shall strike a decisive blow for
squirrel-kind...”